


Ladies Don't Cry

by TriplePirouette



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriplePirouette/pseuds/TriplePirouette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between Captain America and Agent Carter. </p><p>‘“Stop crying,” Peggy heard her mother in her head as she sobbed, “You’ll ruin your mascara.”’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ladies Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Not historically accurate in any way. I’m not even sure if there’s canon about her past/history/family, so if there is it’s not accurate there, either. Inspired by the amazing portrayal of Carter being feminine, using her femininity to her advantage, and when it calls for it, kicking ass like it’s no one’s business.

 

_Captain America Presumed Dead_

 

She held the newspaper with the giant black headline tight, hugging it as if she could make it untrue. Peggy could barely catch her breath as the tears came. She hadn’t cried about it before- not since she’d heard the static interrupt his voice. Even then, it was only a few tears, just a couple of drops stopped as soon as she could before it was back to business, back to assessing the threat and saving the world.

 

Alone, in her apartment a week later holding this morning’s headline, she could finally let it out.

 

She wasn’t supposed to cry.

 

Her mother taught her that.

 

“Stop crying,” she’d say, no matter the reason for Peggy’s tears. “Ladies don’t cry, Margaret. It’s unbecoming.” “Stop crying,” Peggy heard her mother in her head as she sobbed, “You’ll ruin your mascara.”

 

She always thought her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world: wavy chestnut hair, sparkling blue eyes except for the fact that she never smiled. She taught Peggy everything there was to know about being a lady and more. Her mother taught her how to dress, how to do her hair, what lipstick looked best with what clothes, how to take tea, and expected Peggy to follow her example to perfection. Yet her mother never had fun… and never smiled.

 

 

Her father smiled, though. He was as handsome as any movie star… at least Peggy thought so, even with the limp and crooked foot he’d earned from his days as a medic in the Royal Air Force. Peggy was his only child, but she knew he had wanted a son. She could see it in his eyes every time he saw the boys across the street playing catch.

 

Sometimes, when her mother left for bridge club, Peggy would ask her father to play catch with her. It made him smile, and she loved spending time with him. He was a pretty good throw even balancing on his cane, and she picked up quick after a few lessons.

 

The night her mother left after she had bought Peggy her first training bra, her father took her into the garage instead of the yard. He pulled out a dusty speed bag and hung it from a hook on the wall. “You’re becoming a woman now, Peggy. You’re going to be better than those boys across the street- smarter, faster, and because you’re going to be beautiful like your mother, they won’t like it.” He sighed, pushed the bag gently. “They might want things from you that you don’t want to give.” His face hardened, a story she knew he’d never tell her behind his eyes for just a moment before it softened into a conspiratorial smile as he pointed to the bag. “Don’t tell your mother.”

 

Week after week, he taught her to fight. He showed her how to throw a punch, how to block one, how to take her opponent’s legs out from under him.

 

They didn’t teach her those things in the military. They taught her to fire a gun, and to call for help if she was ever faced with the enemy. Her father taught her to fight scrappy, like the boys from his old neighborhood. He taught her how to throw her weight around and how to use what she had. Every moment that had saved her life, that had given her respect from the men she’d worked with, had been because of her father’s lessons. Her mother’s had been just as important, though, allowing her to blend in and play at being one of the fainting, flirting ladies around her.

 

Peggy cried harder, the ache of loss causing a pain in her chest that sparked another memory.

 

She was sixteen when it went wrong. She could remember her father watching her with pride as she went through her practice routine. Then she punched a target too hard too far off center, it fell, and pushed her sideways into a table, knocking her to the floor. The breath flew from her lungs, her ribs cracked, and her head bounced as it hit the floor hard. Her father jolted, but didn’t move. Peggy struggled, fighting the urge to cry, fighting to take a breath without the tears falling.

 

“Are you alright?” her father asked, gently getting down to his good knee.

 

She closed her eyes tight and started to nod, then shook her head fiercely side to side. It hurt- her ribs, her stomach, her head… everything hurt.

 

She felt his hand on her stomach, on her head gently checking for how badly she was hurt, then finally on her cheek, waiting for her to finally open her eyes and look up at him. “It’s alright to cry, Peggy. When it hurts, it’s alright to cry.”

 

She bit her lip and nodded, tears streaming down her face. “It hurts a lot,” she croaked out, turning her face towards him.

 

“We’ll get you fixed up, don’t worry. But it’s alright to cry when it hurts, as long as you get back up again after.” His voice was warm, and soft and soothing, even as he checked her eyes and slid a hand over her ribs again, gently searching for the painful sting of a broken bone. “You just have to always get right back to fighting after.”

 

The memory was sharp and clear, a lesson she’d learned the hard way. “Get back up and fight” was a lesson she’d taken with her every day of her life. Today was the first time she had thought about the first half of what he’d said in years. Peggy pulled the paper back, looking at the stark headline, the cold black type, and let the tears obscure her vision.

 

She could fix her mascara later. Right now it hurt, and when it hurt, she was allowed to cry.

 

She had a date in three days. Peggy was positive she’d be stood up, but she’d go just the same with the small, tiny chance that a miracle would happen and she’d see that dazzling smile walk through the door. But she made up her mind. She could cry tonight. She could cry when he didn’t show up, and then it was over. Then, she had to get back up and fight back just like her father taught her.

 

Without Steve, someone needed to fight back.

 

Peggy Carter would be ready.


End file.
